Poetry By Morgan Hoffman

          Thomas CC



On Loss

There is no pain 
quite like the kind 
Which b l  o  o m  s 
from fertility struggles. 

It eats at your soul 
Like spilled ink 
slowly possesses paper
Consumes you                           on a cellular level 
And every 
                      second 
                                     is agony.

Even being in a room with beholders 
who understand 
is lonely 
because each of our paths
Is so 
                completely
                                                                      isolating. 

It’s the kind of solitude that comes with death. 

I imagine 
When we crave to create
To hold that power
We are walking between worlds. 

We are entering a place without words; 
We are beholden to our bodies 
Something our ancestors understood
But has since been sold
In exchange 
For modernity
And “civilization”

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Morgan Hoffman is of mixed heritage where her Philippine ancestral roots are Ilocano from Agoo and Masbateño from Monreal, Ticao. Her German ancestry hails from Baden-Württemberg. She is the great-granddaughter of an Albularyo (i.e Philippine Healer) and as such is working to fulfill what she believes is the legacy of the modern day healer: creating spaces for self healing in order to heal across generations— past, present, and future.
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